The artist paused, stopped by the expression on Daphne's face. Surely in the presence of the bird the net is spread in vain? Angelo's desire for Daphne was prompted quite as much by art as by love. She would be a priceless acquisition to his studio, would serve as a beautiful model for his princesses, his nymphs, and his angels. So absorbed was he in his passion for art that he could see nothing objectionable or ludicrous in his avowal. Do all artists make love in this fashion, I wonder? The thought of my own beautiful Daphne posing in various attitudes, and in various stages of dressing, before this demon of an artist, in order that he might produce some exquisite masterpiece for the delectation of a gaping public, so set my nerves a-quivering that I all but rushed from my hiding-place for the purpose of hurling him into the fountain. Great was my joy to hear Daphne's reply, given in a voice that was tinged slightly with sarcasm: "Mr. Vasari," and she inclined her dainty head, "I thank your for the honour you do me in selecting me as your model----" "Ah, you are cruel," the artist stammered. "It is not for art alone I love you." "But, believe me, it can never be as you wish." "Ah, why, Daphne? Say not that you hate me." "You forget that I am to be Captain Willard's wife." Angelo started. So did I, for these words were a complete revelation to me. I had thought that she had all but forgotten George, and that I was gradually replacing his image. Her utterance completely dispelled this illusion. With a strange heaviness of heart that increased each moment, I continued to listen to the dialogue. Angelo's pleading expression had changed to one of surprise and contempt. "Captain Willard?" he exclaimed. "Surely you do not think of him now--he who deserted you on your bridal morning! He is not worthy of you." "Deserted me?" repeated Daphne. "Yes--but not forever, I feel sure. He has left me only for a time. Whatever the crime was in which he became involved--for crime I suppose it must have been--I am certain that it was none of _his_ causing. If there be any truth in my dreams he will yet return to explain the mystery of his absence, to vindicate his character, and to take me for his wife." She spoke with such a look shining from her eyes, with so proud a trust in the faith of her absent hero, in such a tone of conviction, that I (thinking only of my own faint--very faint--prospect of winning her) trembled, lest her words should be the heralds of a stern reality. Some dark shadows dancing suddenly across the greensward between her and Angelo, accompanied by a rustling sound as of a footstep, gave me a start as great as if the ghost of George had suddenly risen up before me.